The Midnight Witch

by Paula Brackston

  And now here he lies in my bed, naked and warm. When we left the garden party I knew that this is where I would bring him. I wanted him to know me completely. I needed to know myself completely. We did not speak, all the way here in the cab. By the time we arrived it was dark. I had Terence bring us some champagne and smoked salmon and then dismissed him for the night so that Bram and I could be properly alone. We sipped our drinks and ate our food at the small table in my bedroom in near silence. We both knew what we wanted, what was going to happen. The anticipation was delicious! Every inch of my body tingled at the thought of him touching me. By the time he stood up, stepped round the table to me, and pulled me to my feet, I ached with desire for him. I had never allowed myself to be so free.

  And yet I was reminded, even then, of my other allegiances. The spirits were drawn to my heightened state and started whispering in my ear. I was furious. How dare they! Am I never to be allowed any privacy? I sent them away, refusing to listen or to speak with them. I warned them that if they did not respect my right to a private life as a woman, they would lose my friendship and service as a witch forever. Either they believed me, or they felt suitably uncomfortable at invading my personal life, I cannot know which. In any case, they departed, so that I could give myself to Bram, body, heart, and soul.

  As if sensing he is being watched, Bram stirs. He stretches his strong arms, and his eyelids flutter open. He offers me a slow smile.

  “Don’t you know it is considered the height of rudeness to stare?” he asks.

  “I seem to remember coming under your scrutiny for hours at a time, day after day. For weeks, in fact.”

  “That was different. You were posing for an artist, not sleeping while somebody gazed at you.”

  “Somebody?”

  He laughs quietly, slipping his arm around my waist to pull me to him. The sensation of his skin against my own again is every bit as thrilling as the first time I experienced it.

  “A very lovely body,” he murmurs into my hair.

  At once I feel a longing for him coursing through me. He is so strong, and yet touches me with such tenderness. He smells of life and vigor and desire and my thoughts start to spin away as he kisses my throat, my shoulder, my breast.

  When at last we lie wrapped in each other’s arms again, letting the breeze from the open balcony doors cool our damp skin, I know that I was right, this time, to follow my heart. Father always taught me to trust to my mind, to judgment born of thought, of reason, of knowledge. He would allow the use of a witch’s instinct, yes, but a woman’s yearning? The compulsion to love? To adore and be adored? Never. And yet it is right for me to be guided by this. For now I have an ally in life. Someone who cares about me above everything and accepts me for what I am, even if that is beyond his true understanding. Whatever lies ahead, I will not face it alone. Gradually I will help him to see that what it is I do is not so frightening, not so disturbing. He will be my safe haven. When I am adrift in the stormy seas of magic and the spirit world, it will be Bram who calls me home.

  Moonlight falls through the open curtains. Slipping from under the tangled sheet I pull my cream silk night-robe around me, tying it at the waist.

  “Come along.” I reach out my hand and Bram takes it. “It is a beautiful night, let’s not miss it.” He follows wordlessly until I become suddenly shy at his nakedness. “Perhaps you had better put your trousers on first,” I say, feeling I should look away but not wanting to. My own lustfulness makes me blush.

  “Why? Can we be overlooked up there in your aerie?”

  “That’s just what Charlotte called it.”

  He smiles. “Well, if there’s any danger of her showing up I’d better do as you say.”

  I find watching him slip into his narrow-fitting trousers almost as erotic as watching him slip out of them. He leaves his broad, smooth chest bare. My own desire both shocks and thrills me. I walk briskly to the lift, letting Bram jog to catch up. He slides shut the iron door of the cage and we ascend to the roof.

  It is indeed the most glorious night. The stars are outshone by the lustrous pearly moon that glows directly above us. Below, the city slumbers, with only night workers and a few revelers moving about, subdued in the lamp light. Humans are not by nature nocturnal, but witches often are, and of course necromancers do their best work drawing on the energy of the night. Will I ever be able to make Bram see the beauty of it all? To welcome midnight as joyously as others welcome dawn? I think I will. I think he will suit the strange new life that awaits him.

  We have not been seated on the smooth walnut bench more than ten minutes when I am startled by the sound of the lift being called back down.

  “Who can be using it?” I cannot keep the anxiety from my voice.

  “Perhaps Terence needs to speak with you.”

  “He would call up on the telephone. He is far too discreet to intrude.”

  We both stand and watch the lift return. The ornate ironwork of the cage obscures the figure within, until the doors open, and onto the rooftop steps Nicholas Stricklend. I instinctively stand in front of Bram, but he moves forward and places a protective arm about me. Terence arrives breathlessly at the top of the spiral staircase that services the other side of the roof garden.

  “I am so sorry, Lady Lilith. He would not be stopped.”

  “Don’t worry, Terence. It’s not your fault.”

  The butler hesitates, sensing something is amiss. He retreats to the top of the stairway but lingers there.

  Bram addresses our unwelcome visitor. “Who are you? And what do you mean by forcing your way up here uninvited?”

  “My name, as your hostess very well knows, is Nicholas Stricklend.”

  “Stricklend!”

  “Ah. I see Lady Lilith has told you all about me. How illuminating. She must trust you completely, Mr. Cardale. It is Mr. Cardale, is it not? Or have I been embarrassingly misinformed?”

  Anger surges through me. I know what he is about. I know why this fiend has come here.

  One of my Cavaliers chatters urgently in my ear.

  We tried to stop him, mistress, but he used his demon spirits to bar our way.

  I force myself to sound strong. “How dare you come into my home! I will never give you what you want, surely you realize that.”

  Stricklend sighs. “I am aware it will be difficult for you, Morningstar. May I call you that? I feel we can converse more honestly as witches, don’t you?”

  “You have no right to call yourself witch, sorcerer. And I have no wish to converse with you at all. Leave my home at once!”

  “Alas, I cannot.” He begins to move toward us. Bram tightens his grip on me. I hold my ground. “The Sentinels have waited long centuries to regain what was taken from us. What is rightfully ours. The decision was made that we would wait no longer. The time has come to restore the Elixir to its rightful masters. And that time has come because of me.”

  “Many Sentinels have existed before you, Stricklend,” I tell him, “and I have no doubt many of them thought themselves up to the task you have set yourself. There are accounts of attempts to uncover the Great Secret. Every Lazarus witch learns of them during their instruction. None of these misguided efforts to steal the Elixir from us was successful. They all failed. As will you!”

  “I will not leave without what I have come for, make no mistake about that.”

  Beside me Bram shakes his head. “You are quite mad.”

  “Really?” Stricklend is unimpressed. “If you consider me so, then I can only wonder what you think of the accomplished necromancer you now have in your embrace. She raised her own brother from his coffin, did she tell you that? I must say I admire your broad-mindedness, Mr. Cardale. Perhaps it is your … artistic nature that allows you to view your beloved’s darker habits so charitably.”

  I am about to reply and I can feel Bram clench his fist, but before either of us can respond we are thrown to the ground. The force of Stricklend’s spell is astonishing, and it catches
us both off guard. I am still fighting for breath as I stagger to my feet. What I see next freezes me to the spot with fear. Stricklend has used his strong magic to fling Bram up into the air and now has him suspended, helpless, twenty feet above the roof garden. In an instant he has conveyed him farther away from me, so that now he is beyond the balcony wall. If he were to drop now, if Stricklend were to let him drop, he would plummet ten floors to the street behind the apartment building.

  “Bram, keep still!” I shout at him. He listens to me and ceases his futile, dangerous struggling.

  “It is a simple trade,” Stricklend says, “you give me what I want, and I will give you back your lover. If not…” To underline his point he lets Bram drop suddenly six feet before stopping him again.

  Behind me Terence shouts and rushes toward Stricklend. I try to warn him, to stop him, but in an instant the Sentinel has sent a spell at the poor, frail man, so that he crumples to the ground and lies silent. I feel my stomach turn over. My Cavaliers offer their assistance.

  We will help you, mistress! We can assail your enemy, catch him unawares, beat him back.

  No! If you interrupt his concentration you may cause the spell to be broken and Bram will fall. The risk is too great.

  “I grow tired of waiting for your answer, Morningstar. Are you content to watch another loved one die?”

  A calmness descends upon me as I realize what it is I must do. I experience no fear, no panic, only a firm certainty. There is no other path.

  I look at Bram. He has mastered his own fear and his face is resolute. I know he is thinking of me, of how to make this easier for me.

  “Don’t do it, Lilith,” he calls to me. “Don’t give him what he wants. You can’t. You must not.”

  I instruct my guardians clearly, so there can be no doubt.

  Use all your strength. Save Bram. Let nothing prevent you. Nothing. Only save him.

  But mistress …

  Do as I tell you!

  Stricklend sees what is happening and begins working another spell. It could be one to stop my captains helping or it could be one to send Bram plummeting to his death. I cannot know. In the moment his attention is drawn away from me, I summon all my strength. My witch’s strength. Silently, I call on Hekate to come to my aid, to give me even a fraction of her power. The power to stop a beating heart or to force breath from a body. I call on any listening spirits to contribute their energy to what I must unleash upon Stricklend. I wait as long as I dare, trusting that if Bram falls, when Bram falls, he will be caught by my spirit allies and brought to safety.

  Stricklend curses. The spell he is using to suspend Bram is affected. I hear a shout and see Bram tumbling, not quite falling, but turning, over and over. Stricklend’s magic is precise and expertly controlled, but it is hampered by his having to defend himself from my own spells. I know I have only a fraction of the time I really need to work a spell of disturbance, a fierce and painful one, against Stricklend. I recite the ancient phrases at great speed, tripping over the unfamiliar sounds in my haste. He becomes aware of what I am doing and his face darkens further.

  “You insult me, witch! Do you think I am afraid of you? You have no notion of the magic of which I am capable. The Sentinels once possessed what you and your Lazarus brothers and sisters so arrogantly consider to be yours. We have worked, for generations, toward reclaiming the Elixir, to having it restored to us. And over those long years we have honed our skills, developed our talents, passing down this knowledge and ability, working and practicing our art, utterly intent on our prize. The Sentinels have never had such a leader as the one who stands before you now, Morningstar. I am the apotheosis of that ambition. All those centuries of magic are distilled through me. I can crush the life from any being who treads this earth—man, woman, witch, or sorcerer. And I will crush you. All of you.”

  So saying he utters harsh, guttural words, enforcing his magic, so that I see magic fizzing and crackling in the air around him. The Cavaliers are whirling around Bram in an effort to protect him, but Stricklend is too powerful, and I know that if he releases the spell he is building to, they will not be able to defend Bram against it.

  It is a simple matter to step in front of my adversary, to put myself directly between him and Bram, to stand in the path of the evil magic that was meant for the man I love. As I do so I hurl my own half-formed spell at Stricklend with all the fury I can command. As my own magic finds its target I see Stricklend drop to his knees with a cry of pain. But not before he has sent forth his own vicious spell. At least, as I fall to the ground, I have the satisfaction of knowing that not only is Bram protected but that the wicked Sentinel is, for now, disarmed. The charge of blackness that he has released finds its target not in Bram but in me. It is not the piercing stab of a dagger, as I might have expected, but the blow of a hammer, as if a giant has wielded the thing, and my flimsy body has taken the full brunt of the strike.

  I can hear someone calling my name. It is Bram, his voice full of anguish. My vision blurs and shapes swim before my eyes. I know I should breathe. I try to, but little air will enter my body. I feel I am filled instead with some solid, suffocating substance that repels life. I am aware of figures moving. Stricklend turns and flees, clutching at his side where the arrowhead of my spell found its mark. And suddenly Bram is here, cradling me in his arms.

  “Lilith! Oh my God, my darling Lily.”

  “You are safe, my love.”

  “It was me he meant to hurt! What has he done to you?” He holds me close, kissing my face, saying my name over and over.

  Oh! My body is failing. Soon I, too, will be nothing but spirit. I must pass on the Great Secret. Dare I risk doing it after I have crossed the Rubicon? What if I am prevented from returning somehow? Can Stricklend’s hatred reach me even in the Land of Night? I cannot take the chance. I will tell Bram. I can trust him. I have to trust him.

  “Lilith,” Bram calls to me again. “Let me send for a doctor.”

  “No doctor. You must listen to me…”

  “There must be something I can do.”

  “Bram, please. I am dying…”

  “No!”

  “I am not afraid. No necromancer fears death. I will cross the Rubicon to the Land of Night and join my Gentle Spirits there.”

  “No.” He is weeping now, and it breaks my heart to see him so lost, so afraid. “Please, my love, don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  I reach up and touch his face. “I am sorry. My only regret is that I must leave you. My poor love. Forgive me, my darling, but there is one more thing I would ask of you…”

  “Yes. Anything. Anything.”

  “The Great Secret. It cannot die with me. I will entrust it to you.”

  “But … I am no witch.”

  “You must pass it on. Tell Louis. He will guard it with his life, I know he will.”

  Bram is shaking his head, not wanting to face what is happening.

  “You have to be strong, Bram, my darling. Please, do this for me.” I gasp as my body screams out for the air it is being denied. Stricklend’s spell is slowly crushing the life from me.

  Bram steadies his voice and strokes my cheek. “All right. Lie still, my love. Tell me what it is that you have given your life for. I promise I will tell no one but Louis.”

  I nod. I want to be gentle, to explain, to make him understand, to hear him forgive me for abandoning him, but I have so little strength left. So little time.

  “The Great Secret reveals the final ingredient needed to assemble the Lazarus Elixir. Without it, the potion is powerless, it cannot work.” My heart is thudding, laboring, stuttering now, with irregular, unnatural beats. I must press on. “Three drops of blood from a baby. Newborn. It must be collected before the infant is an hour on this earth. A silver pin, pricked into the heel, and the precious drops collected.”

  “From a newborn?”

  Suddenly, through the haze of my fading senses, I am aware of a thickening of the air behind Bram. A movement
of some force, some malevolent force. Too late I realize we have been overheard. Willoughby! Willoughby’s Dark Spirit was here all along, waiting, listening. Stricklend knew I would be forced to pass on the Great Secret. I was the intended victim all along. He knew that only at the point of my death would I divulge what he wanted to know! The shadowy shape shifts and is gone again. Gone to its master!

  “Oh Bram, we have been tricked! I have been so stupid! The Dark Spirit was here.” I try to sit up, shaking my head. I have not enough breath to explain. “He will take what he has learned to Stricklend. If that monster knows … don’t you see? No baby, no mother, would ever be safe again.”

  “Hush now, Lilith, do not distress yourself further, please, my darling.”

  “You have to stop him. Promise me, you and Louis. And Druscilla. Ask for her help. Promise me!”

  “I promise. Oh, God, Lilith!” Bram’s eyes fill with tears again as my body is wracked with a painful spasm.

  “One more thing, Bram, it is vital … listen…”